it himself, poor dear, not yet, but that's what he's done."
Well, I couldn't contradict her, not after the way I had seen him looking at her across the table.
"What are your feelings towards him," I says, "to be quite honest? He's rather a good catch for a young person in your position."
"That's my trouble," she says. "I can't help thinking of that. And then to be 'Mrs. John Parable'! That's enough to turn a woman's head."
"He'd be a bit difficult to live with," I says.
"Geniuses always are," she says; "it's easy enough if you just think of them as children. He'd be a bit fractious at times, that's all. Underneath, he's just the kindest, dearest———"
"Oh, you take your basket and go to High Wycombe," I says. "He might do worse."
I wasn't expecting them back soon, and they didn't come back soon. In the afternoon a motor stops at the gate, and out of it steps Miss Bulstrode, Miss Dorton—that's the young lady that writes for him—and Mr.
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